


Hrafninn flýgur

by asyndese



Category: Norse Mythology
Genre: 10th Century, Anglo-Saxon England, Gen, Historical, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Vikings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asyndese/pseuds/asyndese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now and then, Thor and Loki like to roughen up the mortals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hrafninn flýgur

"Ach, how dull a day, dragging down those of spirit. By any other agony,-"

"Loki." 

"- endurance prevails. Yet through this numb boredom, neither blood-"

"Loki, there is..."

"I said _neither blood_ -" His move was sharp and precise, inhuman even in this temporary body. He must have hit the attacker’s spine, for the man sagged into himself, his Dane axe falling soundlessly to the ground. His eyes bulged in pain and then recognition. He was still young, barely a man, the first tentative fuzz of a beard showing on his smooth chin. He kept staring into Loki’s eternal eyes, wheezing once, twice, before he was sent where he belonged with a twist to the hilt. 

"...nor barley can abate. Him in poor company, I pity." 

"Good hit, but by the hammer, your rhymes are terrible."

"And what would you know of rhyming?"

"I know for one that they used to be more...", Thor seemed to look for the right word as he scratched his short brown beard in contemplation, but gave up quickly "... witty."

"Your company used to be _wittier_ , too. And whose glorious idea was it again to drag me along on this, dare I say it, _dreary_ jaunt?" He made a broad gesture, encompassing the battlefield and all who lay slain with one dismissive wave of hand as if this was none of his concern, merely a slight offense to his good tastes. "So you are one to complain about my verses."

"You call this boring?" Thor kicked the speared Anglo-Saxon with the heel of his boot, causing him to slide sideways, revealing another motionless body that lay buried under him. It was midday in June, and the sun was burning down their necks. Thor could hardly believe that the grass beneath his feet had been green only a few hours prior. 

"It lacks… finesse," Loki said carefully, wiping the slimy, black blade of his atgeir on the unfortunate man’s torn gambeson and tried to breathe not too deeply and only through his mouth. It smelled like someone had dropped them into a latrine pit.

"Oho, is that so? I’ll tell you about-" Loki never found out what it was, that Thor was going to tell him about. The arrow through his right shoulder turned his words into a low wheeze. With his weight crashing uncomfortably against Loki’s slighter build he had other things to consider than Thor’s idle threat. It was quite an act to keep him upright. Why had Thor insisted on taking this bear of a man’s body as a disguise for their little trip to Midgard? Surely, he could have chosen someone who was less of an obvious target? Perhaps it was meant as some form of parading his prowess, Loki thought almost fondly.

"Arh, pull it out." Thor reached with his hand to his back, trying to get a good grip on the shaft but always missing by a few centimetres. It looked almost comic, like a dog chasing its own tail if it hadn't been for his pale face and the blood colouring the undertunic a darker green alongside his armpit. "Damnit, Loki, pull it out." 

"Here, let me… stop fussing." With one eye on Thor, the other on the battlefield, he jerked the shaft out of his back with a sickening noise accompanied with a half-moaned swear. It was a good hit, he had to admit. Right between the leather straps that held Thor’s lamellar armor in place. 

The archer was quite conveniently hidden at the rear end, behind a boulder and close to the shore, pulling back the bowstring again, ready to launch another arrow, and Loki was quite certain he would not miss. Squinting against the sun, he shook his arm, feeling the arrow vibrate warmly in his palm, before he threw it with all his might towards the archer. It flew with terrifying precision, straight, unaffected by wind or gravity. The thane fell to the ground with the fletching of his own arrow quivering in his chest. 

Loki turned around to a sullen faced Thor, who did not share his satisfaction. He was sitting on the raised lower back of an already stiff corpse, fingering his wound with awkward, jerky movements.

"You should tend to that," Loki could not help but grin at him.

"Says the one with a stabbed kidney. Ain’t so boring after all, huh?"

"Still lacking finesse." 

"I’ll give you that," Thor stood up, ripping his snag-horned axe out of a skull to aim it with his good arm at a man he had spotted some meters away, looting the dead. "There."

"Oh, very good," Loki clapped his gloved hands, rising an eyebrow sarcastically. "It’s no fair sport to fight the battle of men. We should have stood on opposites ends, it would have made things more... interesting." 

Thor blinked owlishly at him. Rolling his shoulders, he snorted and wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand before he said anything. "Æthelred is still looking for men. Against Sveinn." 

Loki considered his words silently, while he listened to the remaining men on the battlefiled as they argued in the distance about the amount of Danegeld. He looked disgusted with the whole ordeal, such cowards they all were and yet... when he regarded Thor again, it was with a small grin playing around the corners of his mouth and a hard glint to his eyes.

"Heathens against those of true faith. Don’t forget to take your hammer. You won’t take me down without a good fight."

"I’m counting on it. Ach and Loki,..." Reaching out one hand, he pulled Loki closer at the neck, bumping their foreheads together. "Choose a redhead next time. Blonde isn’t your colour." Loki’s deep laughter still rang in his ears even after their burrowed bodies had fallen boneless to the ground, two corpses in an amiable embrace among the slain as high above the raven drew its circles.


End file.
